Nothing Left to Live For
by Karonhisake
Summary: Harry thought he had nothing left to live for, but at his funeral, others believe he had plenty.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is going to be very angsty. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Prologue 

He'd done it. He'd finally done it. He'd finally defeated Lord Voldemort, and killed him. He was definitely dead, and wasn't going to come back, ever again.

So why didn't he feel any different about it?

He'd finally saved the Wizarding world from evil... _Until another Dark Lord comes, _he reminded himself.

Harry Potter. That's who he was. The Boy-Who-Lived. And for what purpose? To track down and kill the guy that had killed his parents, and who had been believed to be gone forever until about two years ago when the Ministry of Magic had finally opened his eyes? Yes. That's all he'd been. He'd been given the purpose of his life whether he liked it or not: to fulfil some stupid prophecy about him and Voldemort. Now he had nothing left. No reason to exist. And if he decided to live, and carry on his life, the Daily Prophet'd just pester him. They'd want to know all the things he wanted to forget, like the actual _day_. This day – the day he'd finally gotten rid of the Dark Lord. But he didn't want to remember, couldn't anyone see that?

He ran his hands through his hair, and sighed, leaning his back against the door behind him. He was back at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore had wisely told everyone to keep away from him; to give him a bit of alone time. More memories were all he'd managed to achieve on trying to get rid of the memories of that day. Memories of his godfather, who'd lived in the headquarters, because it was his house. But then Harry had just as well as sent him to his grave. He clenched and unclenched his fist in anger whenever he thought this thought, because he knew it was true, no matter what everyone else had told him.

"Harry, don't blame yourself." They'd said. "It wasn't your fault." They'd said. But Harry knew they were wrong, had known it two years. He remembered the date. It was exactly two years since Sirius had disappeared behind the veil. Harry could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but he tried to stop himself, and decided to think of something else.

This didn't help. His thoughts just rebounded back to the day's events: the Death Eaters, surrounding him on every side; Voldemort, lying there, dead; and his friends, as they'd tried to comfort him on his way back to the headquarters. They couldn't comfort him, or make him happy either. He was never going to be happy for the rest of his life.

Harry paused. _For the rest of his life_. Did he have any reason to be alive at the minute? No. Did he have any future? Only if you counted people gawking at you and asking you for your autograph as a future, he thought bitterly. He just wanted a quiet life, like he'd mostly had just over seven years ago, when he hadn't even heard of Hogwarts, or Lord Voldemort, or anything else to do with magic. Compared to him, sitting where he was now, that life had been bliss. Sure, he'd been living in a cupboard-under-the-stairs, and his relatives had been less than friendly towards him, but at least he hadn't been the center of everybody's attention. Now he was. Harry James Potter, Wonder Boy. Outlived Voldemort – Harry counted in his head – eight times. Brave Gryffindor.

It was all too much to take. Seven years of being a wizard. And now he'd had enough.

"Harry?" a voice asked cautiously from the other side of the door. It was Hermione. "Harry?" she raised her voice a bit. Harry grunted to show that he was listening. "Harry, we're going back to Hogwarts now." She stated. Harry buried his hands in his head, and mumbled: "I'll be out in a second."

He stood up, turned around, and opened the door. Hermione and Ron were standing there, looking very apprehensive. "Well, let's go then." Harry said solemnly, but a tad impatiently.

* * *

They'd been back at Hogwarts for a few days now, and Harry had kept himself to himself, only speaking when necessary. School lessons had been cancelled for the time being, so that anyone who had been in the war (which was the majority of people) had time to replenish themselves.

It was morning, and Harry was the only one in his dormitory at the moment (everyone else was eating breakfast), scribbling frantically as if eager to finish the letter he was writing. When he did, he paused, read the letter through, and nodded. He sealed it, and beckoned Hedwig over (he had called her earlier so that he could send the letter straight away). He tied the parchment to her leg, and looked at her, a sad expression on his face.

"Hedwig," he said softly, stroking the feathers of the beautiful owl. "This is the last letter you'll ever send for me, okay? I want you to take this letter to Draco, and then I want you to go to Hermione. She needs an owl, so you'll be hers from now on, right?" Hedwig hooted in understanding, watching Harry with her amber eyes. "And Hedwig?" He began, stroking her again. "Goodbye." The last word he whispered so softly to the bird, that it was hard to hear.

Hedwig hooted again, and nipped Harry's finger affectionately for the last time, and took flight, flying out of the Gryffindor Seventh Years Boys' Dorms window, towards the Great Hall, towards the seventh year boy sitting at the Slytherin table, named Draco Malfoy. He'd been against Voldemort since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts, surprising many people. And now, he was to receive a letter – the last letter that Harry Potter ever wrote...


	2. Arrivals and Memories

Chapter 1: Arrivals 

"This place is quite impressive, isn't it Weasley?" Draco Malfoy asked the tall, gangling redhead that had just apparated in with Hermione. He just nodded. Draco carried on. "Yet, it has something lingering in the air about it … must be something to do with all the dead souls that have been buried here." Hermione let out a strangled sob. She'd been trying to hold in her grief for Harry, and she wondered what she'd be like when actually seeing him in his coffin, arms crossed over his chest, looking so peaceful – like he was asleep. Draco looked down.

"Sorry Hermione." Although he called Hermione by her Christian name, him and Ron still called each other by their surnames. Draco looked up again, and began: "Harry's death has affected us all. I can't believe that he – he - " Ron shot a warning glance at him. " – that he – well, you know. Must've been really depressed, and I mean _really _depressed. I don't even think that a dementor could even have that kind of effect on Harry." He turned, and walked away to talk to other guests, who were waiting for the Funeral Hall to open.

The Funeral Hall was a place for wizards and witches to be buried after they died. Harry would be one of thousands buried there. No muggles could enter – unless they had a special pass, if they were related or good friends with the lately deceased. The Funeral Hall building was a large, rectangular building with white marble walls, and white marble steps that ran up to the entrance. The windows were stained glass ones, except that all the colours of the glass were different shades of blue. Surrounding the building was the graveyard, which was a vast area of land, very vast. All that could be seen for a fair distance were graves – the ones at the front were made of an older stone, and the inscriptions were hard to pick out. Only one path ran through the middle of the graveyard, and this was for access to the building.

"Hermione, shush. It's going to be okay…" Ron told the bushy haired woman crying in his arms, comforting her.

"But Ron, how can it be okay?" she said between sobs. "Harry's dead, and there's nothing we can do about it!"

"Yes but - "

"No buts Ron, h-he's dead!" she whispered in his ear.

"I know." Ron sighed. "But you've got to go up onto the podium, Hermione. It won't help if you're a nervous wreck at the time. Me and you were the only ones that knew him _really _well." He told her, hugging her.

"I know, Ron," she told him, and hugged back. "It's just, it's just that he'll never to be able to explore the Wizarding world, he'll never be able to get out there! And… all he learnt at Hogwarts for nothing!" a tear fell down her cheek.

"Sshh. Everything'll be okay Hermione." he comforted her. "Everything'll be okay."

Petunia Dursley walked up to the Funeral Building. It certainly didn't help that it had muggle preventing charms all around it, and it had taken her quite a while to find. She felt like she was going to walk away again without just cause, and so waved her special pass in the air. "I'm here for Harry James Potter's funeral!" she called out. Suddenly, she couldn't feel any restraints, and walked forward to the building, finally getting to her destination. How she had once hated the magical kind, she did not know.

Draco was now leaning against the side of the Funeral Hall, reminiscing. Lots of people had come for Harry's funeral, were waiting, and chatting to each other, sad expressions on their faces. Draco just stood there, alone, thinking, remembering. At the end of his sixth year - when he'd finally decided to go to the other side – Harry had trusted him so quickly it had made Draco wince. How could he have gone from enemy to trusting acquaintance in so little time? But Draco had noticed something about Harry at that time: he seemed to keep himself to himself; he wasn't the person who sought for glory in his every move as Draco had once thought. And when Draco had been taken to number 12 Grimmauld Place for the summer on Dumbledore's request, he had seen a whole new side to Harry. The sixteen-year-old hardly ate, hardly spoke, and never seemed to be there in whole, Draco observed. He observed Harry all the way through their summer holiday, until one day it became too much and Draco made himself talk to Harry.

"Harry? You okay?" he'd said whilst opening the door to Harry's room, seeing the boy lying on his bed, looking lost. Harry had sat up.

_"I'm fine." He'd snapped, putting his head in his hands. Draco had walked towards him._

_"No you're not. You've hardly been eating, sleeping, or breathing for that matter." He'd looked at Harry, concerned. "What's up with you?" he sat down on Harry's bed, making the mattress go down slightly. Harry'd looked at him._

_"It's nothing." He had said sternly, hoping that Draco would leave him alone._

_"It doesn't look like nothing to me, Harry." Draco'd told him. Harry had narrowed his eyes._

_"You wouldn't understand. No one understands." Harry had said._

_"Try me."_

And that's where it all began. Harry had told him everything. Had told him how he hated being stereotyped as the boy-who-lived, as though he was some great person that would rid everyone of their worries. Had told him about the prophecy, that he'd not even told Ron and Hermione about, and had kept it to himself for a whole year. Had told him about how he hated the immense pressure of it all. Had told him that he wanted to die right then and there, in that very spot.

And boy, had Draco been shocked. Here he was, sitting with his old enemy, who was pouring his heart out to him, and Harry had looked at him with the death stare straight afterwards and said: "If you dare tell anyone this Draco, if you DARE, then the consequences WILL be dire." Draco still didn't get what Harry had meant by that, and had agreed solely in fear of finding out what would happen if he did tell anyone. Then it was Draco's turn to speak.

_I understand more than you'll ever know, Harry." He'd said truthfully, looking at the boy. Then he'd carried on. _

And he'd told Harry about how he'd hated being the son of a Death Eater, being tortured every time Lucius was home. Told him how he had been frustrated at being stereotyped as the bad guy, and had - for the past six years – steered his frustration at Harry, tormenting him at sight. Told him how he hated the Dark Lord, how he thought his ideas were stupid and disgusting, and that – if Voldemort succeeded – the whole Wizarding race would be wiped out.

And then Draco had repeated the same words that Harry had said after his confessions, and Harry had agreed. But they both knew, that after that that they had someone to confide in if they ever needed to, and they wouldn't be judged. And Draco and Harry had become very close friends, which had caused quite a scene when they had returned to Hogwarts for their last year.

He was shaken out of his reverie by Hermione, who was waving her hand in front of his face and calling his name. "Draco?" he nodded to show he was listening. "We're going inside now." She gave him a pitying look, as she knew that him and Harry had become close friends in the last year.

They sat down and took their seats in the pews of the hall. Albus Dumbledore was stood at the podium at the front of the hall, waiting for everyone to hush. And there… To the left of Dumbldore, was Harry's coffin.


	3. No good to dwell

Chapter 2: Dumbledore's Speech 

"Welcome," Albus Dumbledore proclaimed, "To the funeral of Harry James Potter. We have gathered here today to celebrate his life, and to mourn his death."

Everyone was silent, but the silence was different to that of when he would be announcing something in the Great Hall, it was an eerie silence.

"Today, six people will be talking about Harry, his life, and his death. I will be the first to talk about this." He looked around the Hall, and began.

"Roughly 17 years ago, I stood on this exact same spot to talk about Lily and James Potter. Now, the time has come for me to talk about their son...

"Harry led a trialing life, all of us could see that. He lost his parents at the small age of one, earning fame and the title of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"He, however, did not know of this fame until Rubeus Hagrid explained it to him on his 11th birthday." He chuckled, but nobody else saw the joke. "The Saviour of the Wizarding World did not know he was!

"He started Hogwarts, and this was the beginning of the end for Lord Voldemort." Members of the congregation visibly flinched, still fearful of the name. Dumbledore pretended not to notice. "He managed to thwart him in his tracks for the second time in his life.

"In his second year, he was accused of being the 'heir of Slytherin' because he spoke parseltongue. He was not, but had to again thwart Voldemort – the memory of him – for a third time.

"In his third year, Harry did not face Voldemort, but instead, was suspected to be the target of Azkaban escapee Sirius Black, who killed all those people all those years ago - " People began to protest at this, wondering why the headmaster of Hogwarts was reverting back to the old lie. " – but was actually framed." Albus carried on. "Harry learned that Sirius was indeed innocent of the crime he had been imprisoned for, but that he had intended to kill Peter Pettigrew for betraying the Potters.

Sirius was still on the run from the Ministry of Magic, and Harry and Hermione here helped him to escape when he was almost in their clutches." Hermione let out a sniff at this, remembering her and Harry riding on Buckbeak. Dumbledore gave her a sympathetic look, and then carried on with his speech.

"In his fourth year, and the summer before it, Harry saw many bad things. He saw the Dark Mark in the sky for the first time, and was almost killed by Voldemort for the fourth time. Cedric Diggory however, was not as lucky. I believe Voldemort's words before Cedric died were: "Kill the spare." He really was a person devoid of any care or love.

"Harry saw Voldemort rise, was part of the ritual, but our old Minister of Magic – Cornelius Fudge – did not believe him, just like he did not believe him about Sirius' innocence the year before that. He was a stubborn man, and it showed.

"Harry became more hormonal and argumentative in his fifth year. He threw many a fit, but his friends stuck by him, no matter what mood he was in." He looked over to Ron and Hermione, who smiled weakly. "Harry became more powerful magically and physically, even though he was taken off of the Gryffindor Quidditch team after a fight with Mr Malfoy." Draco smiled at the memory. So many years of hate they'd had, but it had dissipated when Draco had declared he was against Voldemort.

"Harry's fifth year brought him his worst loss of them all – Sirius Black, killed by his cousin, Bellatrix LeStrange. Harry took this to heart, and felt it was his fault that Sirius had died.

"Maybe then I shouldn't have told Harry about the Prophecy, but I knew that at whatever time I told him, he would be angry about it. He carried it as a large burden, as he did Sirius' death. And so his sixth year began in a depressed way, and mood rarely lightened in the next two years.

"Two years full of harmed friends and death, but Harry knew that no matter what, he had to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him, or so he thought.

"The prophecy about the two of them said: "neither can live while the other survives." Even though Harry killed Voldemort, I think Harry felt that he still survived within him – within his very soul. Maybe this is the reason that Harry did what he did, but I guess we will never know. It is now – and always will be – a mystery." Dumbledore looked down at Harry's coffin. He then looked around the room, at every person's down cast faces.

"Remember the happy moments you had with Harry. It does no good to dwell on bad memories." And with that, he stepped down from the podium and looked to Molly Weasley – the next person to talk.

Molly moved towards the podium nervously. Now was the time for her speech, the speech she knew she'd never be able to finish.


End file.
